.:about me:.
.:blog profile:.
name: beth
location: texas
aim: dr0wningophelia
old blog: dr0wningophelia
MySpace: reviving0phelia


.:archives:.
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.:flavor of the week:.
tom waits

.:brain food:.
Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit
by Charles Bukowski


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Monday, January 19, 2004

Good morning, Bethers. It's your mom... I love you a lot, and I'm glad... so happy, glad that you came yesterday and I got to see you... and my family got to see you... And I was thinking about how smart you are... and I don't know why I fought with my brother. I had a fight with him when we were moving Buba's stuff, and it just sorta came out of... where... what's that about about...? Packing the truck and feeling like he was being opportunistic about the stuff... and the best I think about last night was about anxiety... about us not being worth the time to go for a meal... And for some reason going to Starbucks seemed dismissive, but he perceives it quite the opposite, I noticed. And I just admire how you avoid problems and still be so loving... and that you're so sweet and kind with Cassie... and with me... I just love you a lot. I learn from you; you're beautiful...
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message from my mother. January 19, 2004. 8:19


.:dr0wningophelia:. 10:31 | |